


fresh page on the desk (we're gonna smear it with ink)

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ficlet, Jeff/Britta S2 Shenanigans, Songfic, Will I ever stop projecting different aspects of my music taste onto my fav. characters?, doubtful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28805919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: Jeff realizes he’s let go of his solo routines, at least a little, when he starts putting on coffee for two.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	fresh page on the desk (we're gonna smear it with ink)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dearzoemurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearzoemurphy/gifts).



> A missing scene from Jeff and Britta sneaking around during S2. Your standard “Two idiots showing that they love each other even if they’ll never admit it out loud” fluff and antagonization.

Jeff doesn't care for her.

Seriously, he doesn't.

He's only trying to brew a pot of whatever bullshit, overpriced, fair trade Jamaican coffee Britta's got in her cupboard as a means to stave off a potential hangover. Plus, if she has coffee, she'll wake up faster and they can have sex again before…

" _Before what, exactly?"_ he asks himself. _"It's Saturday, and you don't really have plans."_

Once upon a time, he'd find that inconceivable. That he wouldn't be cranking out billable hours at the office or working up a sweat at the gym or trying to pick up some college coed at a fancy brunch after a night out.

Lately, he's been able to dim the lights inside his head til about quarter after nine on weekends-well, when he and Duncan aren't rooting on Manchester United, at least. He'd begged off from watching the Premier League today, remembering he'd been half-drunk last night when he'd texted, _Out with Gwynnifer. Girl's a riot and I'm 100% crashing at her place. Catch the footie next week, wot?_

Duncan's text had come through around 7:00. _I can respect cancelling a prior engagement for sex. See you next Saturday if not around the school, playboy._

He's not sure why he canceled, now. After all, waking up early, sneaking out of Britta's apartment-it's practically routine for him. They've gotten really efficient at post-sex clean up, finding each other's clothes, and ignoring any possibility that they're actually dating, with all the practice at it. Though that one time in Abed's dorm was _definitely_ a mistake, but that's fitting. It's what they are, he supposes.

" _Still,"_ Jeff wonders as he hunts for a mug for himself that doesn't have a fucking cat pun like "My coffee is _purrfect"_ on it, _"What am I still doing here?"_

Britta stumbles out of her room, her blonde curls an absolute mess, last night's eyeliner still half-ringed around her eyes, decked out in only a gray t-shirt that says The Narrative in cursive script and red panties and suddenly extending his stay doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

She frowns. "Helping yourself to my coffee?"

He shakes his head. "That's too selfish even for me. Figured I'd at least get a cup going for you, too."

It's no big deal. It's barely even courteous; he's just not being a dick since screwing up whatever he's got with Britta hardly seems worth it.

" _Because you've always shown such thoughtfulness to one night stands and fuck buddies in the past,"_ some part of his stupid subconscious observes, and he can't help but chuck an insult toward Britta as a distraction, as a way to restore their weird equilibrium.

"Is _The Narrative_ some activist zine about child worker exploitation in Nigeria or something?" he asks, all unnecessary snark even as he passes over her nearly full "so sleepy right meow" mug.

"They're a band. And before you make fun of them, too," she tacks on, perfectly interpreting his next move, "I'd just like to say that I know you listen to Nelly Furtado."

"What?! How...how dare you bring such slanderous accusations against me!" he exclaims after recovering, but not quickly enough, judging by Britta's infuriating (and kinda hot) smirk.

"It's not my fault you leave your iPod out and take a crazy long time to moisturize after you shower," she shrugs. "I did some investigating the last time we did this at your place. It was fun."

"Bitch," he mutters into his mug.

Her blue eyes narrow and darken. "Asshole."

He reaches and clutches at her anyway, and her good morning kiss is two thirds coffee, one quarter regret, and…

" _It's too early to do math,"_ Jeff decides. Absolving himself from figuring out how Britta can draw him close and annoy the crap out of him all in one go might not be the smartest move, but considering his non-existent relationship with his dad, he's plenty good at outrunning his feelings.

"Are you staying for breakfast?" she asks, a hint of suspicion laced in her question.

"Sure. Unless you have something you need to do?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. It's just…" she pauses for a second. "One of us usually leaves pretty quickly."

"We're also usually having sex somewhere we're not supposed to or have to get to a class," Jeff points out. "And being here means there's no chance I see Craig when he's 'just in the neighborhood and dropping by' my apartment. And there's a more than zero percent chance I'll get to fuck you again later," he goes on. "So I really prefer those odds."

Britta clucks her tongue. "Very presumptuous, Jeff. And yet, you're probably not wrong. We're really bad for each other, aren't we?"

"Oh, absolutely. But at least we're smart enough to _know_ that."

"True," she concedes as she starts rummaging around her freezer. "Thoughts on egg, cheese, and bacon bagel sandwiches?"

"...is it veggie bacon?"

"Duh-doy, moron," she snorts. "As if I'm gonna support environmentally destructive animal cruelty."

He pulls a face at that even as he realizes, _"She actually does engage in some little bits of activism, for as much as we-as I-make fun of her failures."_

"Okay, just egg and cheese for mister 'I'm too good for veggie bacon,'" Britta answers in response to his grimace.

"You know, Jeff," she comments as she opens her fridge to retrieve the eggs and cheese, "I'm surprised you've never considered the homoerotic subtext of meat consumption, given how many guys use that as a nickname for…"

He cuts her off with a kiss when she puts the foodstuffs down on the counter.

"There we go," he murmurs after, as she's gone quiet.

"There we go, what?"

He smirks. "Just wanted to shut you up for a sec, Britts."

She swats at his arm. "Dick."

"Buzzkill."

He'd never thought insults could be a love language til he met her.

**

As it turns out, Britta's not half bad as a cook, and Jeff's doing what little he can to help-he's pretty good at cracking eggs, and he can work a toaster-before she says, "The eggs'll be a few minutes."

She plugs her iPod into her speakers, and Jeff holds back a pre-loaded barb about her taste in indie music as a stripped-down acoustic track starts playing.

 _"Not because I care,"_ he tells himself. _"It's just...unbecoming of a gentleman such as myself to insult someone who's making breakfast. Even if that someone is Britta."_

And as much as he typically insults her favorite bands (Radiohead's good, just not _as good_ as she thinks), he has to admit, "This is nice easy listening music for a weekend morning."

"Consider this your intro to acoustic folk-pop," she responds, her voice on the quieter side to match the tunes. "And, more specifically," she gestures at her shirt and Jeff will gladly take the unspoken invitation to check out her chest, "The Narrative." She winks at him. "Maybe you'll give my music a chance once in a while now, Winger."

" _Only_ once in a while, Perry," he drawls good-naturedly.

He looks at Britta, considers her from his position on her couch as she tends to the eggs while the song transitions to the end of the first verse:

_And this dormant love you've built_

_Inside your stubborn ways_

_Well, it's begging now for air_

_And the sudden breath of change_

And Jeff _sees_ her, all at once, in a sudden rush: how, goddammit, she can be annoying as hell and stubborn and always willing to call him out on his shit.

And how she can be, as he'd said, as he still believes, the heart of the group. How she'll sometimes run herself ragged for their well-being. How she's stupidly beautiful in any setting.

He doesn't know how it happens so quickly, how he ends up standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her like they could be legitimate lovers.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey." She glances up at him, then turns, nudges him backwards a little.

He's worried he's overstepped some unspoken boundary until she's turned all the way around and her arms are looped around his neck as the chorus rolls in like a high tide:

_As these waves crash_

_Against the highway cliffs,_

_I'm so scared,_

_They'll flood me where I sit._

_'Cause when the roads change to waterways,_

_They never carry home._

It suddenly hits Jeff that they're slow-dancing to a breakup song, and it makes sense, doesn't it, for two people who couldn't find conventional romance with a GPS and Mapquest directions.

But the way they're holding fast to each other, barefoot in the kitchen, clothes on, nowhere near sex as he leans down and Britta stands as tall as she can to meet him halfway…

Their second kiss of the morning feels like a sacred new beginning.


End file.
